


Why be a VIP (If you can be a VNP)

by Word_Devourer



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Character Development Because Future, Future Fic, Non-central DJwifi, One-Shot, Rated for Minor Language, Songfic, mild references to alcohol, stupid jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23924101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Word_Devourer/pseuds/Word_Devourer
Summary: Adrien has been trying, with limited success, to establish a life for himself outside of his father's control.  With his efforts and his father seemingly conspiring to sap any free time he might otherwise have had, the party he's been forced to go to to hint at an upcoming business deal seems set to be yet another draining, unsatisfying night.For Adrien, though, a peculiar instancing of duplexing might just give him the opportunity to salvage things.
Relationships: Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe
Comments: 5
Kudos: 52





	Why be a VIP (If you can be a VNP)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came about after listening to the song 'Very Nice People' a few too many times. It felt like a very Nino kind of song, and I was rather taken with the concept. It's been sitting in my WIP folder for a while, and I'm glad to have it out in the world.

Adrien Agreste, 22, was one of Paris’ greatest heartthrobs; he had acquired a significant following as a young teen, which had, naturally, grown with him, to the point that it had made his studies difficult. He stood just over six foot, with dazzlingly blonde hair that would have drawn doubtful comments had it not been for the fact that he’d had it for at least the past 9 years.

Technically speaking, he was also one of Paris’ superheroes, but that was neither here nor there, especially since Hawkmoth hadn’t been active in the past year.

Here nor there, in this case, meaning the too-big limousine, and the party that he was driving towards.

Too big, of course, because it was, firstly, _empty,_ but for him, and, more to the point, too big because it was so at odds with the life he was trying to live. What he had _wanted_ to do was live in his little apartment, get a steady, nondescript job, and, above all, _not_ work for his father anymore. What had _actually_ happened… Well, the problem was that, no matter how qualified he was, people tended to see the pretty face, and assume that was where he stopped.

So, in the end, though he was living alone, he still had little choice but to acquiesce to his father’s demands. He was paid perfectly fairly, of course, but it chafed.

Speaking of demands, though…

As the limo turned a corner, he put his hand up to his hairline, grimacing. Fashion had marched on, and it seemed he’d been left behind; his hair had been styled, partially curled, partially straight, with enough gel to put a salon out of business. Adrien didn’t know whether he’d just been in a different part of Paris, but he _did_ know that _nobody_ on the streets wore their hair like this.

The shirt and pants were also too tight, but that at least was a _normal_ level of too tight, in the ‘suffer for your beauty’ kind of way. He could at least work with those.

The limo slid, smoothly, to a halt in front of the hall, and Adrien sighed, staring out at the crowd of people, ready to take whatever they could get of him. Paradoxically, as he’d tried to live a normal life, he’d become all the more enticing to the cameras; everyone was always _dying_ for a look at him.

No more waiting.

He composed his face, and exited the car.

Flashes of light greeted him, as he channeled every bit of training he’d ever had to not run directly away.

Smile, wave, walk, and ignore the sensation of his hair on his head.

He entered the building, past a stoic doorman, and found himself in what looked like a nexus; hallways branched off, and audible from in front of him…

His phone buzzed in his pocket, derailing his thoughts.

He hesitated, and then…

One message from Nino

_NL: Yoooo, rocking a new look_

Attached was a low-quality picture of a phone screen, where Adrien could just recognize his own face.

He chuckled, grimacing, slightly.

_AA: Apparently it’s fashionable_

_NL: Lol_

He sighed, replacing his phone in his pocket.

Life had seemed dead set on keeping him away from his friends, just as it had for the past _two years._ The last time he’d seen his friends had been at Alya and Nino’s wedding, which had been over a year ago. Marinette had apparently gone through a break-up _months_ ago, and he’d barely managed to send her a text over it.

And Ladybug…

He twisted the ring on his finger…

 _God,_ he missed her. Sometimes, he almost wished that another villain would attack, just so that he’d have some chance to talk to her again.

He stopped at the door, and grimaced; a bass pounding thudding through the door.

Internally, Adrien groaned, as he remembered what exactly he’d discovered when he’d looked the event up. His father was doing business with Audrey Bourgeois again, and while _she_ didn’t hold parties… Chloe did. _Chloe_ bought out entire nightclubs for the night, probably got bulk deals on it, and somehow managed to glam up what should otherwise have just been another night at the club that people paid _extra_ for drinks when it was one of her parties. What better way to hint at their doing business together, than to have _him_ end up at _her_ party, when he’d always been so notably absent?

He stepped inside, and immediately wished he’d found a way to delay. The lighting and the outfits were all so fancy, the waiters dressed in suits and jackets, the lights above shining down on an exceptionally clean room, but they all seemed so… _raucous,_ their fanciful attire surely soaked with sweat from how they were dancing. The music pounded at his ears, not deafening, but unmissable.

He ducked right, immediately after passing through the doorway, but still couldn’t escape them, cameras wielded by people halfway between paparazzi and authorized crew flashing at the sight of him. He made for the stairs, in the vain hope that maybe if he was higher up, people wouldn’t have as much of an angle to take pictures. He’d need to find a seat away from the balcony, but…

Maybe he could still do this.

\--

The room was dim, the lighting managing to feel smoky despite the total lack of smoke in the air. Soft music played in the background, which Nino could absolutely have broken down into its constituent parts for what it would interest his friends.

Right now, though… He stared down at his phone.

It was remarkable, with how far technology had come, how precisely he could track Adrien. Second by second, he could see one picture, then another, a live-feed of invasions of privacy.

He still had that _ridiculous_ haircut, and the frankly unnecessary clothes, and…

“Ah, damn it.”

Nino couldn’t even be bothered to think up another funny gag to send him because… Well, because he was too busy just _looking_ at him. They were supposed to be best friends, but Nino hadn’t even seen him in person for _months._

Obviously, he’d been devoting himself to getting his apartment set up, and finding a job worth having, and…

Still, Nino couldn’t help wishing that he’d found a chance to come visit.

“Nino?”

“Ah- yeah? What’s up, dude?”

“You alright?” said Alya, leaning over.

“Oh, yeah, just…” he tilted his screen.

Alya sighed. “Yeah… I know.”

“And the hair, dude. We _both_ know he wouldn’t wear his hair like that on purpose.”

“Yeah, well…” Alya glanced across the table, and seemed to think better of what she was going to say.

Marinette, on the booth’s other bench, was silently staring ahead as she worked her way through a drink.

Alya poked her nose forward, almost into Marinette’s cup, and sniffed.

“Girl, you realize you’re acting like a drunk, but drinking like a middle-schooler, right?”

Marinette blinked, suddenly seeming to realize that Alya was there.

“There’s nothing wrong with soft drinks.”

“True, but definitely something wrong if you’re doing the horrors-of-war, drink-to-forget look with a…” Alya sniffed again. “Is that ginger ale? Oh… Is this a horrors-of-my-headache, drink-to-not-have-a-headache thing?”

Marinette giggled. “No, I’m fine. Just… Thinking about an old friend.”

“Is this about he-who-shall-not-be-named?”

“Actually, no. The whole Luka thing is… Honestly, it hasn’t hurt so much, recently.”

“And I am _certainly_ glad of that,” said Alya reaching an arm across the table, ruffling her friend’s hair.

“When you say old friend…” said Nino, “we talking about Adrien here? ‘Cause we all definitely know who he is. I was kinda just creeping on him.”

Marinette laughed, a bit mirthlessly. “More paparazzi ambushing him outside his front door?”

“Actually, no!” said Nino. He showed her the phone. “Boom.”

Marinette stared.

“What is that hair.”

“Not a clue. Probably fashion. You’d know better than I would.”

“I’ve _never_ seen that. And even if I had… _Why?_ ”

“Gotta be his old man, right?”

“But that’s not a fashion shoot. That’s _definitely_ a nightclub.”

“Dunno, man…” Nino paused. “Actually, hang on, I got the picture from a live-feed, and there was an _article…_ ” He paused, scanned back through the previous pages.

“I swear, though,” said Alya, seemingly drawn to the thought, “I’ve never seen you drink ginger ale before.”

“How much attention do you pay to my drinking habits?”

“I mean… Not much. Guess I haven’t seen you drink anything alcoholic, either.” She shrugged. “Unless we count Cider Night…”

“And _let’s not,”_ said Marinette with a pointed look.

“Wasn’t going to,” said Alya, “just pointing out that-

“Found it!”

Alya broke off what she was saying, and the two of them turned to look at him.

 _“As has been held by many rumors, it seems that Adrien Agreste is finally breaking one of his most inexplicable and long held rules of socialization, and has finally made an appearance at one of Chloe Bourgeois’ events. Stepping out his limo in a well-fitted suit, and his hair in the recently-popularized bisected style, Adrien has arrived at…”_ Nino stopped.

“…Has arrived at…?”

“The Platinum Dollar,” finished Nino, staring intently at his phone.

Alya and Marinette looked at each other, though he didn’t see it.

“Should we know what that is?” said Alya.

“Uh, no, no… I mean… Maybe. _I_ do, but that’s because…”

“Because what?”

“Uh... you know how we came in the _back_ route, and went _down_ some stairs?”

“I recall, yes.”

“And I was talking about how good the soundproofing was?”

“It did sound a bit like you were planning a murder or something,” said Marinette.

“Yeah, well…” Nino looked down at his phone, and pocketed it. “I’ll be right back.”

\--

As it rapidly became apparent that he wasn’t going to be left in peace, Adrien had started trying to move around, first trying to slip near the dancefloor, in the hopes the tide of bodies might dissuade the cameras, and then almost stopping at the bar before realizing that the prices were, indeed, way higher than usual, and passing on.

He was _just_ considering posting up in the bathroom, getting on his phone, and not leaving until much later, when-

_“Adrien!”_

He froze, and, turning…

Chloe wrapped her arms around him, held for a second, pulled back, kissed him on both cheeks, and grinned.

Her hair was still just as dazzlingly bright, and the ponytail now went down to her lower back. She was in a bright yellow and black dress that was _just_ on the inside of tasteful. Her makeup, still just as obvious as it had been back in school, now seemed more elaborate, giving the impression that she was embodying some kind of rare tropical bird.

 _She_ didn’t have her hair half-curled, Adrien noted bitterly.

She looked him up and down, and nodded. “Well, stylish enough, if a bit predictable.”

“Hm,” he said, smiling, “I suppose.”

 _“_ You know, when your assistant called, and said I should be expecting you, I would have said she was _joking_ if she had half a sense of humor.”

“Nathalie is Father’s assistant,” he said, softly.

“You don’t have one of your own, yet,” said Chloe, “so it’s practically the same thing.”

It wasn’t, but Adrien let the comment slide.

“Now, I think, before I head out to the dancefloor again, we should grab a booth.” She looked back, at a door on one of the walls, and sighed.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. There are private lounges in the back.” She shook her head, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the stairs. “and I’d _much_ rather be able to talk without shouting, but I just _know_ what the headlines would say.”

Adrien blinked.

“And _obviously,_ _then_ they would go back and start speculating about ‘what if I _am_ secretly interested in men,’ and…” she let out a sound of exasperation.

“They really speculate?”

 _“Adrikins._ They make their _business_ in speculation. The best you can hope for is that they speculate things you don’t _mind._ ”

“I mean…” he said, “plenty of people live without paparazzi trying to take pictures of them.”

“Yeah, and plenty of people are _boring._ Besides, people who don’t get pictures taken of them _wish_ they did. _I_ , obviously, am part of the allure, but it’s _paparazzi_ that keep the party flowing. Some people come here just because they want it to be _their_ picture that ends up on the cover of the tabloids.”

“I… Really?”

“The only thing worse than being talked about, is _not_ being talked about,” said Chloe, grinning, almost sharklike, as she pulled him into the other side of a booth. “That’s why they pay me to host these things.”

“They… They pay _you.”_

She looked side to side. “It’s an absolute _racket_ from where I’m sitting, but I’m good for business, and if they don’t want to pay me, I can take that business somewhere else.”

“I see.”

“But!” she said, suddenly, clapping her hands. “I’m not here to talk about _work…_ I don’t think we’ve even _spoken_ in _months.”_

…

“I _still_ don’t get why you’re so insistent about that,” said Chloe.

It was minutes later, now.

“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “I just… I don’t like cameras on me. Maybe it’s the whole _model_ thing, but I got tired of seeing my picture on magazine covers _years_ ago.”

“Then don’t look at the magazines.”

“But it’s not just that. I mean… You remember that one time people saw me out with Marinette, right?”

Chloe pursed her lips, but nodded. “They said she was your _girlfriend.”_

“Exactly! And she wasn’t, and for weeks after that, they were trailing her, too! She never signed up for that, and she was just trying to help me.”

He sighed.

“I mean… _I_ never signed up for it, either.”

“Yeah, but…” Chloe paused, and shrugged.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, but I’d never want this life.”

Chloe leaned back in her chair, at that, and regarded him coolly.

Seconds past, as she seemed to mull the words over.

“You actually mean it.”

He nodded.

“Well… Fuck.”

Adrien sat in silence, and-

A man stepped up, dressed in the formal attire of the wait-staff, and whispered something in Chloe’s ear.

She scoffed. “I’ll get to the dancefloor when I get to the dancefloor.”

He whispered again.

She laughed, and seemed to consider. “I’m sure they are. Well, far be it from me to keep them waiting.”

The man nodded, and stepped away again.

Chloe looked back at him, seemed to consider, and sighed.

“As long as I’m here, I’ll just be doubling the number of cameras,” she said, standing. “But…” She looked at him, and for an instant, her eyes flickered to one side, as if checking that nobody was close enough to hear. “While we’re being… honest, with each other… The people around here aren’t much for conversation. Send me a text sometime, and we can go somewhere quieter. I’ll even come in disguise, if you want.”

Her hands moved rapidly, as she ripped a piece off a napkin, and grabbed a pen.

He barely had time to register what she was doing before she was leaving, swift steps making the skirt of her dress swish cinematically.

He stared after her for a second, and, indeed, the camera flashes seemed to come a bit less frequently towards him, and he settled back, wondering what exactly he was supposed to do now.

They’d keep taking pictures, no doubt, and the longer he sat in one place, the more likely it was they’d realize that he wasn’t enjoying himself, and then the news would get back to Father, and… There’d probably be a stern talking to involved somewhere in there.

“Want an overpriced drink?” came a voice from behind him, and a man in a serving-staff uniform slid into a position like a waiter taking his order at a restaurant.

He opened his mouth to respond, processed the man’s appearance, and-

“Nino?”

No hat, and his clothes weren’t his usual attire, but Adrien _knew_ what his best friend looked like.

“One and only, dude.”

“How are you… You don’t… You work here?”

“Ha! Not exactly, but I _do_ work with some guys who _do_. Got the uniform off one of them.”

“Okay, well that’s better than you knocking them out. Ah- Wait. What are you _doing_ here?”

“I…” said Nino, pausing for dramatic effect, “have come with an invitation.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well…” said Adrien, slowly, “I mean… I’m kind of supposed to stay here the whole time.”

Nino grinned. “Right, but what if you didn’t even leave the building?”

“I mean… Wait, are we talking about one of those private lounges in the back?”

“No… Although, if you need a good place to say you’ve been…” He paused. “They’re taking pictures, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.”

Nino leaned forward, and muttered in Adrien’s ear.

_“Just act like someone important invited you somewhere.”_

He stepped back, and waited.

Adrien paused, restrained a smile, and nodded, standing up.

Nino started walking, back down the stairs from the balcony.

Adrien followed, first along the edge of the dancefloor, then through the same door Chloe had been looking at before.

As the door closed behind them, Nino’s unnaturally straight posture dropped, somewhat, as did the odd way he was holding the arm behind his back.

“Yo, Augie, you still here!?”

At the name, a head popped out of a door, its owner seemingly a bit annoyed.

“I mean, yeah, not like I can _leave_ while you’re wearing my uniform.”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, so listen, if anyone asks, my friend was just in one of the lounges for the rest of the night, yeah?”

‘Augie’ for this had to be the person he’d been asking for, looked Adrien up and down, shrugged, and nodded.

“I guess you mentioned the two of you were friends…”

“Oh, and the uniform,” said Nino. He glanced at Adrien. “Just a sec, dude, I gotta get changed back.”

They took a right turn into the room where Augie had been looking from, seemingly an employees only part of the club, and a few turns later, Nino was sequestered in a changing room.

“The only problem is that I need to _leave_ through the club at the end of the night,” said Adrien. “Are we going far.”

Nino laughed. “You would be _amazed_ how close you already were.”

“I mean… Same street?”

“Same _building._ ”

“Wh- Where are we going.”

“Okay, so here’s the thing,” said Nino, the vest going over the changing-room curtain, “the Platinum Dollar is obviously the upstairs, but they don’t actually own the whole building. The actual _building_ just happens to rent out most of their space to them; at least, that’s what one of the security guys said. Anyway, the _rest_ of the building, which is down stairs, where _we're_ going, is the Smokehouse, which, weirdly, doesn’t let you smoke. Not that I’m complaining, obviously.”

“Is the Smokehouse… another club?”

“Club is probably the wrong word,” said Nino, the shirt following the vest. “Or, well, actually, I don’t know what the _right_ word is in that case. Like, I wouldn’t say you could ‘go clubbing’ there. More like… A lounge, I guess. It’s my go-to if I want a night out with some chilled-out grooves. Nice folks, cheap drinks, and the music is a _hell_ of a lot better than the Platinum’s.” The pants followed. “And I’m not just saying that because I sold them usage rights to some of my stuff.”

“Just the music? You don’t DJ there?”

“Nah. For live entertainment, they go with, like, instrument people, if they go with anyone. Still, monthly royalties per song add up pretty quick.”

“When you say ‘add up…’”

“Oh, like $50 per month. Not like I’m retiring on it, but I’m definitely not complaining.”

He slid the curtain aside, and stepped out.

“Jeans and a hoodie, huh?” said Adrien, as, indeed, Nino was still pulling on a muted-green hoodie.

“Yup.”

“Well, I’m feeling a bit overdressed, now.”

“Yeah… Clothes _not_ optional in the Smokehouse, unfortunately,” said Nino, shrugging, “otherwise I’d say go for it. Be worth it to see the look on Marinette’s face.”

Adrien felt his face go a bit pink at the idea. “Oh, Marinette’s there?”

“Yeah, her and Alya. Didn’t actually tell them I was bringing you down, but Alya’s probably figured it out by now anyway, so _eh.”_

Nino led the way through more _employees only_ rooms.

“Why not tell them?”

“I dunno, man, it just seemed like it’d add some fun mystery to how you got there.”

“Channeling your inner Alya, I guess?”

“You don’t learn to keep up with Alya, you _don’t_ keep up with Alya,” agreed Nino.

“How’s she been handling the whole, ‘no Ladybug’ thing.”

“Ladyblog’s been kind of dead, obviously, so, I mean, more free time. Definitely seems like she misses her.”

_That made two of them._

“Still no kids, right? You mentioned that.”

“Nah. We’re both working, and I don’t think either of us is ready to stop just yet. We’re figuring at some point, but _definitely_ not yet.”

“Good that you’re on the same page, at least.”

“Oh, hell yeah, dude! I mean, I know why you’re asking.”

“Oh?”

He put up his hands, fingers pinched together, and, back over his shoulder, in a nasal, sneering tone, “Tell Johnny three-toes that if he doesn’t pay up, I’ll put ‘im in concrete shoes…”

There was silence.

“What?”

“Godfather? You want to be the little dude’s godfather?”

“I…”

“Right, yeah, you’ve probably never seen that movie.”

“I mean, I’ve heard the name. That’s the one with the horse in the guy’s bed, right?”

“Horse _head,_ but yeah.”

“Yeah, that.”

Their path had wound far enough away that the music had mostly faded, only the bass still rumbling through. Then, down a few more flights of stairs.

“For reference, though, you’re pretty much top of the list if we actually _do_ the whole godfather thing.”

“Hah. Well, I guess that’s one more reason to try to get my life together.”

“Hell yeah, dude. I haven’t seen you in _way_ too long.”

They paused, at another door.

“Oh, by the way, do you actually want to keep the hair? Alya _will_ laugh at you for it.”

Adrien paused, and silently, almost surreptitiously, ran a hand across the left side of his head, straightening out most of the curls.

“Sick,” said Nino, grinning, “now it just looks like you had a bad case of bed-head.”

“I’ll take it, honestly.”

Nino pushed the door open.

“Welcome to the Smokehouse, dude.”

The room was kept dim, the only lights forming glowing yellow haloes around the tables and booths. There was music playing, just loud enough to be audible over the dull murmur of conversation. On a large open space in the middle of the floor, two couples were slow dancing.

Nino, much more relaxed than he’d seemed in the Platinum, ambled his way around the edge of the dancefloor, and Adrien finally saw where they were going, right in the back corner, the only people anywhere close.

“I’m back, dudes,” said Nino. “I’m assuming you already figured out what I was planning.”

Alya snorted. “I not only figured it out, I saw you do it.” She held up her own phone, on which much the same live-feed had since ended.

“Lots of talk about how Adrien’s in trouble with the mob, or he’s doing some shady business deal, or something.”

“Boom,” said Nino, grinning, “and _nobody_ saying he’s skipping out on the party. Sounds like mission accomplished to me.”

“Agreed,” said Alya, with a wry smile.

“Right,” said Nino, sliding in next to Alya, “you want a drink?”

Adrien laughed, a bit ruefully, “Best not; I’m trying to save up.”

“Oh, well, cheers, dude,” said Nino, and reached into his hoodie pocket. He pulled out a bottle that Adrien would have _sworn_ was unconcealable in such a confined space, and slid it across the table.

Adrien stared.

“And…” he continued, and pulled out a plastic cup, which looked suspiciously like the ones in front of the rest of them.

“Half-empty,” apologized Nino, “but what’s left should be pretty good.”

“And sit down,” said Alya, “I _assure_ you, we don’t bite.” She flashed a grin. “Well, Marinette might.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, but she wasn’t quite hiding a smile.

Adrien, after a second, slid in next to her.

_Strange, that reaction. Back in school, if Alya had said something like that, she’d have been affronted, albeit halfway amused. Now, it seemed, she’d gotten used to Alya’s more… questionable statements._

“I see you’ve improved the hair situation,” said Alya.

He laughed. “Nino pointed it out at the last second. I’m assuming that if I come back late with my hair messed up, they’ll just think…” He paused, and…

“Important business,” said Nino, nodding sagely. “Many would say some of the _most_ important business.”

Alya snorted.

“Well,” said Adrien, grimacing, “I mean… They’ve come to the same conclusion five or so times now. It didn’t do much _then.”_

“Five!?” said Marinette.

He shrugged. “I mean… There’s a barista where I get coffee who’s always really friendly, so that was one… Then, they got a picture of a man picking my pocket, but it didn’t look like that was what he was doing… Then… Oh… I think it was someone I fell into on the subway?”

“How did they get you on the subway?” cut in Nino.

He shrugged. “I think it was in the background of someone’s selfie.”

“Okay, wait, _who was taking selfies on the subway?”_ came Alya’s affronted addition.

“Are we just skipping over the part where he got pickpocketed on camera?” said Marinette.

“Pickpocketing happens all the time,” said Alya, “subway selfies are an abomination.”

Adrien laughed.

“Maybe I should see if I can get Father to push for _that_ as the next big thing, as long as I’m still working for him.”

“I’d think you’d want to leave that for a…” Alya’s eyes went wide, and a grin spread across her face. “Oh my god. Gabriel Agreste, social media influencer.”

Nino snorted. “Alya, no.”

“Alya _yes._ Can you _imagine.”_

“Gabriel Agreste brand bathwater,” said Marinette, eyes distant and vacant, as if suddenly experiencing a vision.

“Marinette, _no,”_ said Nino.

“Marinette _yes,”_ Alya managed to choke out.

Adrien had a hand over his face.

“You realize I didn’t _need_ to imagine Father selling his bathwater, right?”

Marinette giggled. “I don’t know, I think we don’t always _know_ what we need until we find it.”

“Well-“ the words were broken by a laugh, “I _have_ found this, and I’m pretty sure I don’t need it.”

 _“What’s up gamers,”_ said Nino, in an unnervingly good impersonation of Gabriel, _“we’re back with another episode of ‘how awful can I make my son’s hair.’”_

 _“Let’s get this bread,”_ said Alya, in a significantly worse impersonation.

Nino gave her an unimpressed look, and cleared his throat dramatically.

_“Let’s get this bread.”_

Adrien tried to restrain himself, but, hand covering his face, the laughter seemed to be bubbling up unstoppably.

“It’s like he’s in the room with us.”

“Nino, wait,” said Marinette, eyes wide, “What if… People don’t want to buy it… And he gets really upset over it…”

Nino looked at her, and then… “Oh! Oh, one second…”

He looked up, as if into another world, and snapped his fingers.

“Alya. Alya, I need a name.”

“For what?!” Adrien cut in.

“Uh… xXxGabe underscore 69xXx,” said Alya, prompting another bout of laughter from Marinette.

“Hah! Okay, okay.” He put his hands out in an ‘everybody be quiet’ way, and cleared his throat.

A second passed.

Nino snorted with laughter.

“Okay, okay, no, wait. Hang on. I can do this.”

He breathed, slowly and carefully, as Adrien pulled his hand from his face, more out of morbid curiosity than anything else.

Nino’s voice came out commanding, and sinister. _“xXxGabe_69xXx, I am Hawgkkgh-“_ he broke off, his helpless laughter dragging the rest of the table down with him. Marinette was shaking, eyes closed as she pressed back against her seat.

 _“Gabriel Agreste,”_ she managed, not even managing an impression, _“Mssr. Ramier has been doing rats, recently. Would you like to take over on the pigeons?”_

 _“I believe you would look great in the Antibug costume,”_ said Alya, visibly forcing herself to stay in control.

_“How about Reflekta 3.0?”_

_“Can you skate? I’ve been wanting to do another version of Timebreaker.”_

Adrien snorted, and managed to choke out, _“He actually can't skate.”_

Alya cackled.

…

When Adrien left the Smokehouse, hours later, it was slightly tipsy, and much more cheerful than he’d gone in. Nino had insisted that he lead him back in, and Adrien had had to sit there as Nino had hassled his friend to very carefully show Adrien back into the dancefloor. Nino had carefully straightened out the jacket, and admonished Adrien to be careful about the pants, and had sent him off.

The Platinum Dollar had quieted down significantly by then, to the point that he could actually _see_ Chloe on the dancefloor. She seemed as unruffled as if she’d only been there a few minutes, though it had surely been a few hours since he’d left. Other people, far more rumpled, and doubtless _far_ more drunk, stared at her, glittering and weaving through the dancefloor in her showy way.

It took a second for the cameras to spot him this time, but he was already on his way out, and they had a hard time keeping up with him.

Mercifully, blissfully, he made it outside without so much as a nudge from someone wanting to know what he’d been doing.

He slipped neatly into the limo, and shut the door.

The driver would leave him at his apartment, and then vanish off to wherever limo drivers got their limos, but until then…

He reached into his pocket, and pulled out four notes.

_“Don’t forget. -Bourgeois”_

_“I.O.U. The other half of that bottle”_

_“I need to shout at you about Ladybug. Nino’s heard it all already.”_

And the last… Marinette.

 _“You’d_ better _sign it this time,”_ Alya had said.

She’d scribbled it at the last second, just before he’d left, and he hadn’t gotten to read it before he’d left the room.

_“Wish we’d talked more. Maybe sometime just the two of us? Marinette”_

Leaning back in his seat, a smile slipped onto his face. It had been a good night.

Maybe he'd even get some better tomorrows out of it.


End file.
